No Props? Geoffrey!
by BenquashaFraser
Summary: A short fic set post season 3, Slings and Arrows. Things have changed and Ellen is having trouble coping. Rating for Language.


**No Props?! Geoffrey!!**

"Name?" the clerk at the bank asked in a bored voice.

"Which name do you want?"

"Excuse me?" Suddenly he wasn't so bored. How did he always manage to get the suspicious acting loonies?

"Well do you want my real name or my professional name?"

"Uh… your professional name?"

"Okay, then it's Ellen Fanshaw."

"Huh?" This woman really was crazy.

"Ellen Fanshaw. That's my professional name."

"Oh, no, I meant what's a professional name?"

"I'm an actor. That's my profession. All actors have a professional name that is uniquely theirs so they don't get confused with other actors." Her tone really grated against his nerves.

"So your work payments will be in that name then?" Think polite, act polite, be polite, he repeated in his mind.

"Yes."

"And your other loans, payments, etc.?"

"What about them?" He really had to bite his tongue to stop himself from sighing.

"What name are they in?"

"My real name."

"Which is?" Geez! Getting intelligent information out of this woman was like trying to convince his boss that he deserved a pay rise – not impossible, but definitely a lot of hard work.

"Ellen Tennant."

"Okay. I'll put both of the names on your account. Now, what else can I do for you today?"

"I need to take out a loan?"

"How much?"

"A lot. I really need this loan a lot."

"No, no, no. How much money to you need to borrow?" Did he really have tospell everything out for her?

"Oh. A lot. $25,000." He had to bite his lip to stop his jaw from dropping open.

"I see. Do you have any proof of income?"

"I'm an actor."

"So you said. I'm still going to need some proof of income." She turned around. She just turned around! What on earth was she on?

"Geoffrey!" Now a crazy looking guy has joined her. Great! "I need proof of income." Of all the things the clerk expected the guy to do, him pulling out a notepad and pen and beginning to scribble something down was not one of them.

"Here," the guy said, passing the clerk the piece of paper he h just scribbled on.

_Ellen Fanshaw is employed by the Old Burbage Travelling Theatre Company. She will be paid on a show by show basis, the amount determined by the takings from each show._

_Geoffrey Tennant_

"And you would be?"

"Geoffrey Tennant. Miss Fanshaw's boss."

"Uh huh… Tennant… any relation?"

"Yes. He's my husband." At least the man had the sense to realise that was a bad thing and slumped his shoulders.

"I'll be back in a moment," the clerk told the pair. "I'm going to need to go and get a manager."

--------------

The bank visit had left both Geoffrey and Ellen on edge. As they began, with the rest of the company, to work on their latest play tempers began to fray.

"We're going back to basics." Geoffrey announced to his small audience.

"Basics?" Geoffrey almost laughed, of course Ellen wouldn't understand the idea of going back to basics.

"Yes, basics. The stage will be bare bar a couple of chairs and a table, there will be no lighting effects, all of the sound effects will come from that portable stereo." He pointed to the stereo which Maria was holding up for all to see. "Oh and there will be no props."

This caused a hubbub of whispered talking amongst the actors, which was cut through by Ellen's shrill and outraged voice. "No props?! Geoffrey!!"

"That's right Ellen. No props, no hiding behind plastic toys, just pure honest acting." Her tightly folded arms and clouded face told Geoffrey that she was going to try and exile him to the couch tonight.

Rehearsals moved slowly after that. Occasionally Geoffrey would have to pull Ellen out of the rehearsal and force her to just sit and watch.

"Ellen you are not even trying to act here!"

"Well I can't see the play Geoffrey! We have no set, no props and we're probably not going to have an audience! I have bills to pay Geoffrey!" Her voice was rising in pitch and he was just grateful that she was only talking about herself and not trying to talk for the group.

"I know Ellen," he sighed. "I fucking know that you have bills to pay Ellen! We all do! That's why we're spending as little money as possible on props! Now just sit over there," he pointed to the back of the tent, "and when you feel able to use your imagination and do your fucking job then you can join back in!" Ellen stormed to sit at the back of the tent. It was becoming a familiar sight.

--------------

Three weeks before opening night, Ellen was sitting at the back of the tent, again, seemingly talking to herself. "I can see it!" she called out suddenly, drawing all of the onstage action to a halt.

"You can see what?" Geoffrey asked exasperated.

"The play. I can see the play!"

"Okay. Good, come on up here and we'll try a complete run through then."

"No. It's missing something. That's why I couldn't see it before!"

"Ellen, we have talked about this before. I am not putting any more props in there."

"No. Not a prop, a character. You would be perfect as the Gardener."

"We've cut the gardener! He's not needed in the play and I am not going back on stage!"

"You've done it before!"

"That was for Charles! It was his dying wish for God's sake I had no other choice!"

"Well it's my living wish! Anyway, the gardener is essential."

"How is he essential Ellen? He doesn't say a word!"

"Then he's perfect for you! You won't have to remember to speak!"

"Right." Geoffrey stormed out of the tent.

"Why the Gardener?" Someone had to asked, so Jack figured it might as well be him.

"The gardener is like Kent in Lear, he is the ever present guardian. Even when Alice is acting like a complete Loony, he is there offering support and advice. He's what grounds her, keeps her with one foot in reality."

Geoffrey stood at the doors of the tent listening. He knew that Ellen was right but he wasn't sure that he could do it. He had had Oliver encouraging him when he stumbled in Lear, now Oliver was gone and he wasn't sure that he would be able to pull it off.

--------------

Opening night came and the crowd roared with delight as the lights went off on the stage and the actors took their places for their bows. A standing ovation for a brand new play. Oliver would be pleased, Geoffrey sure was. Ellen, it seemed, had be right about the Gardener. Which Geoffrey should have know, considering he wrote the play. Then again none of the cast, not even Ellen, knew that because he had signed it N.O. Welles (Not Oliver Welles). A new Canadian playwright had emerged and no-one knew their name and that was just the way Geoffrey planned to keep it.


End file.
